Sooo....this past weekend was my birthday. I turned 36 so now I am officially closer to 40 than I am to 30 and that kinda freaks me out. I did the same thing when I turned 29. Most people are all like "Oh my god! I can't believe I am turning 30 (or 40 or 50)!" and I am always "What about turning 33, huh? God that's a total bitch. It's like you aren't even 32 anymore." And for some reason it makes sense to me and people are always trying to figure out the correct response to something like that. They are never sure if they are supposed to agree with me or maybe they are the odd ones because turning 33 never even phased them.
But even with the internal freak out, it was a really good birthday. My mom and I drove up to Cleveland on Saturday to visit my grandparents for the day. Driving in a car for that long definitely leads to a lot of conversation. With me being a pharmacy tech and my mom being a nurse in a urologist's office, part of our conversation turned a little "shop talk." I never thought that bonding with my mom would include the words "Viagra" and "penile injections" but it totally did. Here's the thing.....I feel I need to share some of this conversation because it is actually a Public Service Announcement. Are you ready for it?
We Do Not Care About Your Personal Penis Activities.
There are specifics to that. One, we do not care that your Viagra is too expensive. Neither do we care to hear things like "I will just have to be more selective about when I use it." My job is to count out the little pills and put them in a vial and then take your money. I cannot control the pricing for your escapades. Two, we do not care that "it is your anniversary." We do not need a calendar of your special events nor do we really want to know how you will be spending them. We are happy to do our jobs, but please cease making us be professional in the face of such statements. We do not know the proper sympathetic statements to make when presented with them. Nor do we really want to spend time figuring them out.
Part of my birthday weekend I spent shopping with my mom searching for the elusive Perfect Pair of Jeans. And get this! I found one such pair! They fit right. They aren't too long or too short. They make my butt look good (and isn't this really the only qualification for Perfect Jeans?). They aren't too dark or too light. They are in a smaller size than I usually wear....and I don't really care if the designer of said jeans does that thing where they call them a different size so the woman buying them is all "Oh my god! I wear a size 6 now! I am TOTALLY buying these!" The tag says "size 6" and that is all that matters to me. But I totally did the thing that all women do when they find the Perfect Jeans. I only bought one pair. Why?! Why did I do this? I have a theory. I think that women and jeans are like those dudes who can never commit to just one chick because they are convinced that someone better/hotter is just around the corner. That is women and jeans. We are commitment-phobic about our pants.
One more thing....
I spent last evening at a Girl Scout event with my daughter. Three of the women there said to me "Wow! You have lost a lot of weight!" Why is it that in my head I hear that as retroactively calling me fat? Of course the sane part of my brain just thanks them, but the crazy gnome controlling the other half of my brain? He whispers "She just insulted you in the past." I add this to my list of reasons to be wary of Girl Scouts.
I don't have a good wrap-up for this post. I tried, but I just can't come up with anything that ties this all together. Just roll with me.